Chapter 7: The Photograph She Could Not Retake

Third-person POV

Mabel stared at Alvin's exhibition photo until the screen dimmed in her hand.

He was standing beside a row of photographs under the title "Leaving the Frame." His smile was relaxed, his shoulders loose, and beside him stood Serena Hale.

Serena wasn't leaning against him. They weren't holding hands. There was nothing in the picture that should have made Mabel feel threatened.

That somehow made it worse.

Alvin looked comfortable.

For years, Mabel had been certain she understood every version of him. She knew what food he ordered when he was upset, which songs he listened to while studying, how he rubbed the back of his neck when he was embarrassed, and exactly how long he could stay angry before coming to find her.

But the Alvin in the photograph was someone she had never seen.

Someone who no longer needed her to make him smile.

Ethan's message appeared at the top of her screen.

"Dinner? I found that place you wanted to try."

Mabel ignored it.

A second message arrived.

"Mabel?"

She turned her phone face down.

Her roommate glanced over from her desk. "You okay?"

"Fine."

"You've been staring at the same photo for ten minutes."

Mabel immediately locked the screen.

"It's nothing."

But that night, she opened the old hard drive again.

She found a folder from their sophomore year.

In one video, Alvin stood behind the school gym holding a reflector while Mabel adjusted her camera.

"My arms are dying," he complained.

Mabel's younger voice came from behind the camera. "Five more minutes."

"You said that twenty minutes ago."

"If I win this competition, I'll buy you dinner for a month."

"Deal."

The video shook as Mabel laughed.

Alvin looked directly into the lens and grinned.

"You better win, then."

Mabel paused the video.

That year, she had won.

Alvin had celebrated more excitedly than she had.

The following year, she submitted photographs of Ethan instead.

When Alvin looked hurt, she called him petty.

Mabel covered her face with both hands.

For the first time, she allowed herself to remember everything without changing the meaning to make herself feel better.

Alvin hadn't suddenly become jealous.

She had slowly taught him that Ethan would always come first.

Whenever Alvin complained, she had treated his pain as evidence that he loved her.

The more jealous he became, the more secure she felt.

She had never imagined there would come a day when he simply stopped.

…

Alvin's POV

By midsemester, Portwell had become familiar.

I knew which café stayed open late, which library floor had the best windows, and which bus route was always five minutes behind schedule.

The photography club became part of my routine.

Serena and I often worked together, but she wasn't the center of my new life.

That mattered to me.

I had spent too many years building my days around one person.

I wasn't interested in replacing Mabel with someone else.

One Friday afternoon, Serena dropped a flyer on my desk.

"Intercollegiate photography competition."

I looked at it. "No."

"You haven't even read it."

"I saw the word competition."

"So?"

"Bad memories."

She pulled out the chair opposite mine.

"Then make new ones."

I gave her a look.

"Do you rehearse these lines?"

"Every morning in the mirror."

I laughed.

Eventually, I entered.

The theme was "Home."

At first, I had no idea what to photograph.

For most of my life, home had meant the neighborhood where Mabel and I grew up.

Then I realized home didn't have to be a person or a childhood address.

I photographed Portwell at night.

The noodle shop owner closing his shutters.

Students sleeping over textbooks in the library.

A father waiting at a bus stop with his daughter's backpack over one shoulder.

My mother laughing during a video call reflected faintly on my laptop screen.

My final photograph was of my own dorm room at sunrise.

An unmade bed. A camera on the desk. Books stacked badly against the wall.

Nothing extraordinary.

But it was mine.

I titled the series "Where I Chose to Stay."

A month later, I received first place.

Mom cried when I called her.

"I'm not crying," she insisted.

"You're obviously crying."

"Your signal is bad."

"That doesn't explain the crying."

She hung up on me.

I laughed so loudly Serena looked over from across the studio.

"You won and your mom still hung up on you?"

"That's love."

The competition results were posted publicly that evening.

I knew Mabel might see them.

For once, the thought didn't affect whether I posted.

I uploaded a photograph of the certificate and thanked the club.

Serena commented, "Told you to make new memories."

I replied, "Don't get arrogant."

The exchange was harmless.

Mabel apparently didn't think so.

The next weekend, she appeared in Portwell.

I was leaving the photography building when I saw her standing at the bottom of the stairs.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

She looked thinner than I remembered.

Her camera hung from her neck.

"Alvin."

I stopped several steps away.

"Why are you here?"

Her eyes reddened immediately.

"You blocked every number I used."

"That should've answered your question."

She flinched.

"Can we talk for ten minutes? That's all I'm asking."

I should have walked away.

But this was the girl who had occupied most of my childhood.

Maybe some endings deserved to be spoken clearly.

"Ten minutes," I said.

We sat on a bench outside the building.

Mabel held her camera tightly.

"I broke things off with Ethan."

I looked at her.

"Okay."

She seemed stunned by my response.

"That's all you're going to say?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to understand that I never liked him the way you thought."

I almost smiled.

"Mabel, whether you loved Ethan isn't the point anymore."

"Then what is?"

"How you treated me when he was around."

She went silent.

"You made me feel like everything I asked for was unreasonable. You gave him the time, attention, patience, and kindness you used to give me. When I noticed, you called me jealous. When I was hurt, you called me petty. When I finally walked away, you still thought I was trying to manipulate you."

Mabel's lips trembled.

"I know. I was wrong."

"I believe you know that now."

Hope flashed across her face.

I continued, "But knowing it now doesn't undo it."

Her hope disappeared.

"Alvin, I came all the way here."

"And I went all the way here too."

She froze.

"The difference is that I didn't come to Portwell to punish you. I came because I wanted a life that wasn't built around waiting for you to choose me."

Tears slipped down her face.

"I was going to confess to you during the fireworks."

"I know."

"If you had stayed—"

"But I didn't."

My voice was quiet.

"And maybe that's the first good decision I made for myself in a long time."

Mabel lowered her head.

Her fingers tightened around the camera.

"Can I take one picture of you?"

The question caught me off guard.

She gave a broken smile.

"Just one. I won't ask for anything else."

I hesitated, then stood.

Mabel raised the camera.

For several seconds, she didn't press the shutter.

Her eyes filled with tears behind the viewfinder.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She lowered the camera slowly.

"Nothing."

But both of us knew.

Once, she had told me there was love behind the camera.

Now there was regret.

And regret couldn't recreate what love had already lost.